Toy Soldiers
by heyitsmima
Summary: War is the only thing they know.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

War is the only thing that Nikki knows. She spent her youth in a war between herself and the world—sex, drugs and alcohol were her best friends, and her parents were her enemies. She fought everyday for a way out, for the chance to be what she goddamn wanted to be. She wanted nothing more than to be left alone, free to live by her own rules.

Her parents were not bad people, they were just bad parents. They were stuck in the vain world of glamourous parties, shopping sprees and trust funds, and Nikki was stuck in their world, one that she couldn't seem to fit in no matter how hard she tried. She would wear the right clothes, go to the right parties, be friends with the right people, but she knew that she would never belong in the glitz of New York's Upper East Side.

She eventually told her parents that she wanted out, that this wasn't the life for her. She tried to explain, tried to make them understand that this wasn't the life for her, that there was nothing substantial that the Upper East Side could provide her. Her parents were furious and said things that they should not have said. Nikki raged, and a new war began.

In the new war, Nikki stopped wearing the right clothes and going to the right parties. She befriended the wrong people, hung out with the wrong crowd and did the wrong things. She went deep into the forbidden world of drugs and sex, topped with liters and liters of alcohol. It was a world that she knew wasn't for her too, but it was a world that her parents wouldn't dare touch—that was enough for her. There were times when she wanted out, wanted to wipe her slate clean and start a new life in a brand new world, but she couldn't pull away, couldn't climb out of the hellish abyss that she was already in.

On the night of her sixteenth birthday, while Nikki was snorting coke up her nose in a basement somewhere in Brooklyn, a drunk driver ran a red light and hit her parents' car on their way home from Nikki's birthday dinner that she didn't bother showing up for. It wasn't until twenty-four hours later, when Nikki was sober enough to get off her ass and on her feet, that her parents' lawyers were able to find her and tell her what had happened. Her parents were dead. She was alone, and everything had changed.

She was suddenly thrust in a new war, one that she did not ask for. Her time at the deep end had shown her nothing but the wrong way. She no longer knew what she wanted and she had lost sight of who she was. She was alone with no direction and absolutely no idea what she was supposed to do. This time around, she was at war with herself.

She packed her bags and headed to Geneva, to her father's brother, the only living relative she had left. She was desperate for an answer, for _something _that would help her fight this new and excruciatingly painful war. But the only thing she found with her uncle was a new war, a real one, and it was one that she would not escape from for the next thirteen years of her life.

War is the only thing Nikki knows. Standing alone in the middle of her uncle's New York apartment, thirteen years after seeing him for the first time in Geneva, and seven months after his death, war is the only thing that she can feel crawling underneath her skin, that she can taste on the tip of her tongue, that she can remember as it plays like a movie in her head. War is the only thing she knows how to live for, and this new war she finds herself in feels more dangerous than any other war she's fought in her life.

But there's nothing in the fridge and she needs milk. Wars begin somewhere, after all. Perhaps this one will start in the supermarket.

* * *

War is the only thing that Steve knows. He spent a good chunk of his youth trying to get into one, and the rest of his previous life leading one. War was where he became the Achilles of the twentieth century, found glory and immortality, forever remembered for his valor and selflessness. War was where he was given everything that he had ever dreamed of, but war was also where he had lost everything that was most dear to him: his best friend and his love. All he had ever wanted was to fight for his country, yet he could not stop thinking about how incredible it is that he had gained so much, and how inconceivable it is that he had lost even more.

Seventy years in the ice seemed like a photograph to him—one click of the camera and the photo is there, frozen in time, forever captured by this simple device. What Steve is is a snapshot of the war, forever trapped in a single frame, motionless, stuck in one fleeting moment in time. He is a part of the past, a memory, and he simply does not belong in this world, in this time.

Waking up to a war did not surprise him one bit—if there is one thing Steve is sure about, it's that humans never change, and that they never learn from their mistakes. They make the same mistakes over and over again, falsely hoping that the end results change for the better, but they never do. They keep hurting themselves with their naivete, with their stupidity, that it's no surprise how they're always in the same situation: war. Humans are always at war—at war with themselves, at war with each other, and now at war with the rest of the universe.

So he fought in a war to save his beloved race—that's what he was trained to do, that's what he was _made _to do. He is a soldier, after all, and soldiers fight in wars. But there is a bit of him that feels choked, like a dog on a leash itching to get out of his master's grasp. Sometimes he feels like he is a soldier trapped in a war that he does not want to take part of.

But war is the only thing Steve knows. Sitting alone in his New York apartment, a year and a half after Loki's attempt at taking over the earth, war is the only thing that runs through his veins, that makes his heart beat, that keeps him sane. War is the only thing that gives him meaning. War is the only thing that can both kill him and keep him alive at the same time.

His stomach grumbles and there's nothing he can use to cook up something edible. He will have to go to the supermarket, and that in itself is a war of its own.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

She is not fond of supermarkets. There are rows and rows of all kinds of food in their colorful, enticing packaging—wonderful and delicious food, most of which will most probably go to waste. It reminds her of how much is out there and how little gets to her refugee camps. It reminds her of how lucky she is to have been born with a golden spoon in her mouth. It reminds her of how much she despises the values that most people in this city adhere to.

She passes through the aisles one by one, grabbing only the items that she needs, items that she knows she will use. Thirteen years of going from one refugee camp to another has taught her the importance of being sensible with resources and frugal with money—a far cry from what her Upper East Side upbringing has tried to drill into her skull for the first sixteen years of her life. She walks by the sweets section and thinks about the refugee kids who will probably never know how licorice or gummy bears—her two favorite candies—taste like. It baffles her how this part of the world can be so different from the part of the world that she has learned to love with an intense and almost psychotic need. What have these people done to deserve such affluence, and what have her refugees done to deserve such suffering?

She floats through the rest of the aisles, not really paying attention to anything in particular. Being back in her hometown after so long feels surreal to her. Coming back to New York City was never in any of her plans—_live by the camp, die by the camp, _as her uncle would always tell her, and she had planned to do exactly just that. This city, after all, was filled with memories she dare not remember, memories that she has yet to come to terms with.

But maybe that's why she's back after so many years. If there's one thing her uncle has taught her, it's that the secret to living a good and contented life is to learn to forgive and to move on. Maybe it's about time that she did that.

Her thoughts are interrupted by distressed noises coming from the fruits section. A man stands by the bananas, trying desperately to figure out how the weighing machine in the front of him works. He stares murderously at the buttons, as if they are the most evil thing in the world. Nikki can't help but be amused—he looks to be in his mid-twenties, is insanely handsome, and looks vaguely familiar. But he most definitely does not look like someone who would have trouble with technology.

"You need to put them in the bag first," she tells him nicely.

He turns his attention to her, startled at first. "I'm sorry?"

"The bananas." Nikki tears a plastic bag from the roll and walks over to him. "Here, let me show you." She puts the bananas in the bag, places it on the weighing machine and presses its corresponding code. She sticks the price tag on the bag and hands it to the man. "Here you go," she says with a smile.

He smiles back. "Thank you. You must think I'm an idiot."

She shakes her head. "Not at all."

"It's just that it's been a really long time since I was… immersed in civilization," he tells her, trying to explain.

She waves him off. She doesn't need an explanation, because she knows how it feels all too well. "I completely understand. The last time I was in New York was thirteen years ago."

This seems to surprise him. "How so?"

"I'm a field officer for the Masters Foundation. I work in refugee camps," she tells him proudly. If there is one thing Nikki knows she has done right by, it's the work she has done—_work I'm doing, _she corrects herself mentally—in her camps.

His face lights up, his interest spiking. "Why not come back? Don't field officers get time off?"

She shrugs. "It's more of a choice than a circumstance really." He raises both his eyebrows in confusion and opens his mouth to ask something, but Nikki beats him to it. "It's a long story, really. Not a good topic for supermarket conversation."

His disposition suddenly shifts from interested to embarrassed. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable," he apologizes, his face certainly looking sorry.

Nikki shakes his head and smiles at him sweetly, hoping it will make him feel better, because he really did look very sorry. "Don't worry about it, really. It's not a big deal." Really, it isn't—if there is one thing Nikki is honest about, it's how much she hates New York and everything it stands for.

He hangs his head a little and doesn't say anything at first. He looks sincerely apologetic, and Nikki can't help but smile at that. Maybe there is still one decent man left in New York, after all. "Look, it's really nothing," she assures him. "I hate this city. I was just unfortunate enough to have grown up here. Forget I even mentioned anything." She extends her hand as some sort of peace offering. "Nikki Masters."

He receives it warmly and shakes her hand. "Steve Rogers. Pleasure to meet you."

"Right back at you."

"Look, I'm really sorry about—"

She raises her hand to stop him from apologizing again. "Like I said, it's nothing." They look at each other for a moment or two, regret still etched on his face. "Well then," she starts, breaking the ice. "I'll leave you to your shopping." She smiles at him again, and this time it's genuine, not just because her WASP upbringing compels her to do so. "It was nice meeting you, Steve. And don't worry about," she does a waving action with her hand, "whatever." She smiles one last time and turns around to walk towards the meat section.

"Wait, Nikki," Steve calls out, walking after her. "I need a bit more… help with the grocery shopping. Could you—"

"Lend you a hand? Of course."

"And maybe after we're done with the groceries we could…" Steve looks uncertain. His fingers fidget and a slight blush starts to creep up his cheeks. "Have a cup of coffee or something? You know, after?"

Nikki wants to laugh, really. For a very good looking guy, Steve seems to have very little experience with women. And that interests her, attracts her even. It's not as if she's had experience in these kinds of things, because she hasn't. Spending most her youth in filthy, drug-filled basements didn't exactly introduce her to the world of 'proper courting,' as her mother would have put it, and working in the most war-torn areas of Africa and the Middle East for the last thirteen years of her life doesn't exactly leave much time for dating, especially for someone as passionate and workaholic—two things that should never go together, in her uncle's opinion—as her.

He attracts her because, well, he's obviously trying. And he's trying for someone like her, someone who, in her opinion, isn't worth a dime in the dating world, or in any world for that matter. She can just shake her head and walk away, but she is 'on leave' after all—if she didn't enjoy her time away from work, her uncle might just start haunting her.

So she tilts her head and smiles wider, completely unsure about the whole thing but strangely excited at the prospects. Who knows? This might actually be the start of something amazing.

"I'd love to."

* * *

Steve doesn't know much about asking a girl out, much less actually dating one. He never actually dated Peggy because, well, they were in the middle of World War II, for one, and because Peggy is—_was, _he corrects himself, _was_—not exactly the typical girl a guy would take on dates. There was no need for dinners or dancing or anything, really. With Peggy, being in the same room with her was enough—if they weren't strategizing in dark, enclosed basements until the wee hours of the morning, he was out on the field, risking his life for the country and the people he loved—still loves. Coming home to Peggy's beautiful, glorious face after a long, arduous fight was all that he ever needed.

_Still _needs, if he is going to be really honest with himself.

But yeah, dating. He knows absolutely nothing about how dating in the twenty-first century works. Hell, he never knew anything about how it worked in the 40s either. So what exactly made him ask Nikki out for coffee is beyond him—all he knows is that he stood there, watching her walk away from him. He felt like she was an opportunity—for what, he doesn't exactly know either—and it was slipping from his fingers. And if this chance encounter was made to be a good thing, then there was no way in hell he was going to let this one go, not after all he has been through.

So he cleared his throat and followed the one good advice that Tony has given him—_just ask a girl out for a cup of coffee, that usually does the trick, jeez Rogers, you're making me crazy here—_and made a mental note to blame him later if things didn't work out. And she smiled and said yes, and Steve thought that getting her to say yes was probably the single greatest thing he has ever done in this new and strange life of his.

Well, that and kicking the shit out of Loki. That one was always filled with good memories.

And now he finds himself sitting across from her in a quaint cafe-slash-deli not so far from the supermarket. She's talking animatedly about her life in the field, and Steve can see how much she loves it, and how much she misses it. Every couple of minutes she stops talking and glances at the ceiling, the corners of her eyes crinkling, as if she's remembering something wonderful, and takes a sip from her gigantic mug of coffee. It must be a really wonderful and terrible job, Steve thinks, because he can see the weight of a thousand years etched on her face.

And it's a gorgeous face, too. Peggy was a classic beauty with her luscious red lips (even without the lipstick), patrician features, and silky, exquisite dark hair. Peggy looked like she belonged with Hollywood Golden Age royalty, immaculate and immortal, and matched with her spirit and strength, she was a magnificent force to be reckoned with. Nikki on the other hand is 'textbook, twenty-first century magazine' gorgeous—deep blue eyes, long light brown hair, and a stunning golden tone to her skin that reflects the years she has spent under the heat of the desert sun. She can see how brave she is just by looking at the energy of her smile, the way her head tilts, and the unique fierceness of her eyes. But he feels as though there's something more underneath that glamour, that bravery—a troubled past maybe, or something else—and that there is something more to Nikki Masters than meets the eye.

Something more than a woman who slightly reminds him of Peggy Carter.

"Wait, wait, hold on a second," he tells her after she ends a story about her time in Darfur. Something clicks in his head. "Nikki Masters_. _The Masters Foundation. You _own _the foundation you're working for?"

She giggles. "Wow, that took you long enough."

"Well, I'm sorry if I was busy trying not to look like an absolute idiot in front you," he jokes, and she chuckles because she knows it's true.

"At least _that _mission was accomplished."

"What, that I managed not to look like an idiot in front of you?"

"Yes."

"How did I look like, then?"

She smiles at him with slight mischief, takes a sip from her mug and nonchalantly says, "Adorable, actually."

He laughs, trying to hide the fact that he's blushing. "But seriously," he says, wanting the conversation to get back on track. "The Masters Foundation. Yours?"

"No," she tells him, serious all of a sudden. "My uncle's, actually. Henry Masters. He created it about twenty years ago, started from scratch with his own money, built it to what it is today. It's amazing, really, what he's done for this world."

"He must be a great man."

"Was. He died seven months ago."

He hangs his head in shame. That's twice in the same day. _Really, Steve?_ "Wow, I've been nothing but a complete jerk today, haven't I?"

"Please, Steve, don't beat yourself up just because of my life," She tells him gently. She follows it with a soft laugh, and lowers her head to stare at her coffee mug as if it was telling her the secret to life. "Shit happens. That's life."

"I know, but…" Hesitantly, he tries to catch her eyes. He's expecting sadness, maybe even a hint of hidden anger, but as she breaks her gaze away from the coffee mug, her face shows nothing but warmth and understanding. There is, as Steve expected, a hint of sadness hidden in her smile, but he files that away for a later conversation, if there ever will be one. "I'm sorry for your loss," he finally says.

"As the rest of the world should be. He really was a great man. He gave a lot to a world that refused to give back."

They keep talking long after they finish their coffees, but this time the conversations revolve around happier things, like how he finds pop culture ridiculous, or how she thinks that New York has gotten stranger (and not in a good way) since the last time she was in the city. Steve notices how Nikki flawlessly dodges his questions about her childhood and youth, like she has done this a million times before. It's through Nikki's reluctance to share her past does Steve realize that she has absolutely no idea who he is, and neither does she have an inkling of the existence of the Avengers and other worlds and whatnot. Being cutoff from the rest of the world will do that to you, Steve thinks. And everything has been quiet since Loki's failed attempt to rule the world—that unsettles him, but he'll think about that another day—so there is currently nothing about his other life in the media at the moment. Right now, he's just reveling in the fact a woman agreed to have coffee with him because she just might genuinely like him as Steve Rogers and not as Captain America.

They're in the middle of a lively but rather stupid debate about Fruit Loops and Corn Flakes when Nikki's cellphone suddenly rings. She looks quite shocked by it, and it seems to him that she is probably just as illiterate with technology as he is. He smiles at her, amused, as she grapples with answering the device. "I'm so sorry, let me just take this call," she tells Steve breathlessly. "Hello?" Her eyes widen and she turns from comfortable to panicky in the blink of an eye. "Oh god, of course I remember, but it's only—" she looks at her watch "—three in the afternoon, I have about an hour, yeah. Of course I'll be there, of course, I'd never—"

Steve's stomach falls slightly to the ground. Throughout the course of this 'coffee break' (he doesn't want to call this a date just yet), he had already been planning to have dinner with her—no exact details yet and she actually _has _to ask her out, but hey, it's the thought that counts, right? But from the tone of the conversation Nikki is currently having on the phone, his plans are slowly turning irrelevant. This is the type of conversation one has with a very significant other, and he really should not be surprised that someone as beautiful and smart Nikki is in a relationship.

She finally ends the call after about a minute and gives Steve a very apologetic look. He braces for another failure in this department, one that he never really had a passing mark in anyway. "Hey, I'm so sorry, but I have to go." Steve nods and tries hard not to look disappointed. "I'm supposed to be meeting someone in an hour. I didn't realize how long we've been talking—I really enjoyed this. I'd like to continue our conversation some other time. If it's alright with you, of course."

So it wasn't a significant other then. Steve doesn't notice that he sighs in relief out loud until Nikki calls him on it. "What is it?"

Steve looks extremely embarrassed, but he's so thankful that he doesn't really care all that much. "I was worried that the person on the other line was your boyfriend."

She laughs heartily, and it's a sound that Steve wants to hear again. "Oh god no, don't worry about it. That was a good friend. I haven't seen her since I packed my bags and left for Geneva, and we're meeting somewhere to catch up for all that lost time. That is, if I get there on time."

"Of course, of course. Don't let me keep you." He stands just as she was about to, ever the gentleman. "Maybe we could…" he starts tentatively. He tells himself to relax, he has already gotten past the more difficult part—getting the girl to spend time with him for more than five minutes. He can do this. He can ask her out. "Exchange numbers? I would love to have dinner with you sometime."

Her face lights up at the suggestion, and he knows immediately that he's actually not doing so bad at this whole dating thing. "That sounds wonderful." She digs around inside her bag and pulls out a pen and a calling card. "This is my calling card for the Foundation. Don't use the numbers in the front because those are my Geneva numbers—no one actually answers them since I'm always on the field. Let me write my New York numbers at the back for you." As she writes both her landline and cellphone numbers at the back of the calling card, Steve writes his on a napkin with a pen someone left on the table beside theirs. They exchange one for the other and smile at each other, joy obvious on their faces. Steve can see that she really did enjoy spending time with him as much as he enjoyed spending time with her.

"It was really great to meet you, Steve."

"It was wonderful to meet you too, Nikki."

"I'll see you soon?"

"I'll call you?"

"You do that."

She kisses him on the cheek and walks out with her bag of groceries. Steve watches her leave, happy at the way things turned out, and proud at how well he did under the pressure of his own ignorance at twenty-first century courting rituals.

He exits the cafe moments after Nikki disappears from his view and walks toward his apartment, replaying the date (okay, fine, it had been a date) in his head, but dismissing the fact that he had never felt this elated since that night Peggy Carter approached him in a bar wearing a beautiful red dress.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_A/N: Hello world! This is my first AN after three chapters. I'd just like to say I'm a bit surprised at all the traction this story is getting—so many people put Toy Soldiers in their story alerts, yay! Thank you for taking the time to read my humble fic. I wasn't so sure it would sell well but hey, apparently people like it. I'll try to update/write as frequently as possible, but I'm on travel mode until the first week of June, so I don't actually know how often I can write. In the meantime, please do take the time to write a review—it really encourages me to write more. And I'm really sorry for the delay. I've been traveling a lot, managing only to write about two to three hours every couple of days. Top that off with final papers for some of my classes, so it's been a bitch. But anyway._

_Please be warned that everything I know about the Avengers come from the movies, and it will remain that way. I will be taking a lot of liberties with the personal histories of some characters._

_Onwards, then!_

* * *

Steve decides to head to Stark Tower instead of returning to his apartment. He needs advice—a lot of it—and the only person he thinks can help him is Tony. It's probably not the best idea in the world, talking to a Stark about dating (_has Tony actually seriously dated__anyone besides Pepper?_) but Tony is the best he has—Bruce would be morose about it probably Hulk out (unlikely, but you'll never know), Clint would suggest something disturbing that only he would understand, and Natasha doesn't exactly date, she terrorizes. So Tony it is, and Pepper might probably be there to help him as well.

As he approaches Stark Tower, he looks up in awe—the view never gets old. Despite his initial misgivings about the 'big, ugly building,' he now actually thinks of it as a truly magnificent piece of work (even if it kind of looks like a llama). His fast-track self-study on late twentieth and twenty-first century history, and world affairs has made him realize what a real genius Tony is—sustainable, clean energy is not easy to come by, and he made it work. What Tony has done is actually pretty amazing, and regardless of the selfish, I-aim-to-pleasure-myself persona that Tony tries to emanate, Steve knows that deep down, Tony Stark is actually made of sweet, gooey, strawberry-chocolate filling. No selfish person in the world would spend years and years of research, almost nonstop hard work, and millions of dollars just to pleasure himself.

So yeah, Steve takes back what he said about Stark Tower (and about Tony too). It's actually a pretty beautiful sight to see.

Tony has asked him twice about moving in the Tower. Clint, Natasha and Bruce moved in ages ago, and Thor stays with them whenever he visits from Asgard. Each of them has a floor all to themselves, plus a couple more 'team floors' for recreation, gym, and essentially everything that the Avengers will ever want and need. His own floor is equally remarkable, with all the toys—Tony even personally designed and built (sort of) Steve a personal gym catered to Captain America—basically every superhero's dream pad. He enjoys spending time with his teammates, no doubt about that, and he thinks it might be very interesting and convenient to live with them. Yet he just can't bring himself to pack his bags and leave his Brooklyn apartment.

He tells himself it's because Brooklyn has always been his home, but a tiny voice inside of him says it's more because he can't let go of the past. But he never addresses that, because once those floodgates open, there will be no turning back for him. He's just not ready for that yet, even after all this time.

He parks his motorcycle, greets the doorman and punches in the code to the Avengers elevator. He decides against going straight to Tony's floor because he probably won't get in anyway, so instead he presses the button to the Avengers' common living room floor. Once the doors open, he finds Natasha and Clint in the middle of a very intense game on some gaming console that Tony once explained to him. Candy wrappers, junkfood bags and empty soda cans are scattered all over the coffee table and floor—apparently they've been at it for some time—and Steve stands there for a minute, amused, and then Clint erupts into a fit. Apparently Natasha has won the game, and she starts teasing him about it.

It's a few more minutes before they realize that Steve is standing near the elevator doors and observing them. They're surprised to see him—he doesn't come to Stark Tower often—but they welcome him nonetheless. Natasha gives him a kiss on the cheek as a greeting. "Steve! What brings you to this side of town?" she asks him.

He tries not to look directly into Natasha's eyes, because then she'll know everything before he even says anything. "I wanted to talk to Tony about something."

"Avengers business?" Clint asks, opening another can of soda and shoving his hand in an open bag of chips. "There aren't any developments on the situation in Iran and North Korea, are there?"

Steve shakes his head. "Director Fury hasn't called for another meeting, so I guess not. No, I'm here on personal business."

Clint chokes on his soda and Natasha's right eyebrow shoots up. They steal a knowing glance at each other and she turns to him with a sly smile on her face. "You're here to ask for dating advice. Honestly, Steve, you could not have picked the worst possible guy."

"He's in a stable relationship," Steve points out in defense.

"So are Natasha and I," Clint throws back at him.

"No offense to the both of you, but your relationship isn't exactly what I would call normal," he tries to tell them as nicely as possible. He may be Captain America but he isn't sure if he'd still have his limbs after Hawkeye and Black Widow are done with him.

Surprisingly, Clint shrugs and tells him, "None taken."

"Point is, Steve, Tony should not be your go-to guy for dating advice." Natasha saunters over to Clint, sits beside him on the couch and takes a sip from his soda.

"So who do you suggest the guy goes to, then?" Clint asks Natasha. "Bruce is terrible at relationships because of the turning-into-a-green-rage-monster thing, and Thor is a god, he doesn't count. We're—" Natasha gives him a look that says 'be careful what you say next' "—unorthodox and Tony's just—"

"Tony's just what?" At that moment, Tony strolls in the room, face covered in oil and grease marks, looking like he hasn't seen the light of day in weeks.

"Jesus Christ, Stark, have you ever heard of a shower?" Natasha says in disgust, her nose crinkling.

Tony shrugs nonchalantly and walks towards Steve. "Hey, Rogers. Finally decided to move in?"

Before Steve could answer, Clint tells Tony, "He's here for dating advice, apparently."

Tony's face lights up like a child during Christmas morning. "Really now. Who's the lucky girl?"

"I'm not telling you who she is," Steve says firmly.

Natasha's eyes widen a little, realizing something. "She doesn't know who you are, does she?"

Steve smiles. "Surprisingly, no."

"All the more reason for us to know _who she is," _Tony presses.

"He's not going to tell you her name, Stark," Natasha says coolly.

"And why the hell not?"

It's Clint who answers Tony. "Because he know's you're going to make JARVIS pull out her file and find out every dirty secret she has. That would completely spoil the fun of dating her."

Natasha wordlessly agrees with Clint (as always), opens a new can of soda, and rests her head on his shoulder while his arm is around her. It's an endearing sight, one that Steve is slightly envious of—they've both been through wounds and bullets and a whole lot of blood and sweat and maybe even tears, but they're still here, together, eating chips, drinking soda, arguing with friends, being _normal _in the midst of all the chaos. It reminds him of Peggy, of what they could have had, of the life they could have lived together.

"But then we'd be prepared. As the world's mightiest superheroes, we should always be prepared." It's Tony who breaks his reverie, and thank heavens for that. He doesn't exactly know where his train of thought would lead him next. He's been back for almost two years, yet those thoughts still play around in his head, taunting him with an almost manic tone.

"Isn't that the Boy Scout motto?" Natasha asks with no humor in her voice whatsoever. "We're not Boy Scouts."

"Steve's a Boy Scout," Clint comments offhandedly.

Tony smiles triumphantly. "Exactly. Boy Scouts are always prepared, Steve's a Boy Scout, thus he should be prepared. And to be prepared means _telling us who this girl is._"

Steve sighs in frustration. "I only came here for some advice. But apparently none of you have any idea what you're talking about. I'm starting to question my reasoning skills."

"Shh!" Natasha says, her eyes focused on the TV. "Go question your reasoning skills somewhere else." It seems that both she and Clint have lost interest in Steve's dating dilemma and have become more fascinated with what looks to be a polar bear documentary.

Tony looks at Steve with an amused smile on his face and shrugs. Apparently Tony isn't the only one in the team with a short attention span. "Do you want to get away from these idiots and head upstairs?" Steve nods wordlessly and follows Tony to the elevator.

For the past year and a half, they've both grown to like each other, maybe even love each other. It had been a difficult relationship to develop because it began with insults and sarcasm and misread signals. At first, Steve could only see Howard in Tony—a Howard that Tony never knew, never even thought existed—and Tony _hated _that, hated Steve, hated the fact that Howard had loved Steve like a friend, a kind of love that Tony had never felt from his father. It took a while for Steve to begin seeing Tony as Tony, not as Howard, not as a Stark that the media packaged, but as Tony—flawed and broken, but selfless, extraordinary and passionate. And Tony had looked past the legend of Captain America, the hero he idolized as a child, and began to see Steve, the lost boy who had lost everything, and who is grasping at straws in the dark to get his life back together. What started with animosity grew to become a friendship that Steve—and Tony—thinks he can't live without.

"Drink?" Tony asks him as soon as they reach his floor. Steve shakes his head to decline, and Tony pours himself a whisky. "Alright then, tell me about this new girl of yours."

Steve raises an eyebrow, suspicious. "I told you, I'm not going to tell you who she is."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Don't worry, I'm not going to run a background check on her. Besides, I asked you to tell me _about _her, not give me her social security number. Which I can easily find out, by the way. With my eyes closed."

An embarrassed blush creeps up Steve's cheeks. "Oh, of course, sorry," he apologizes. Sometimes he still can't get his mind wrapped around a nice, friendly Tony. He supposes it's a defense mechanism of some sort.

Tony rolls his eyes again. "Well?"

Steve cocks his head to the side, thinking about Nikki and the way she laughed at the (stupid) things he said, the way her beautiful blue eyes twinkled when she talked about her life's work. He smiles, remembering how her soft chuckle made his heart skip a beat. "I met her at the supermarket this afternoon. She helped me at the fruits section and we had coffee afterwards. She's…she's beautiful, amazing."

"And she doesn't know you're a superhero."

"No. It's refreshing. She has no preconceived notions about Captain America. To her, I'm just the idiot who couldn't work the weighing machine in the fruits section. I'm just Steve Rogers." As he's telling Tony all of this, he's feeling warm inside, giddy even, something he hasn't felt in a long, long time. There's also, however, a niggling feeling of doubt, of guilt, like he doesn't deserve to feel happy.

But he knows he does. He knows he deserves this—the second chance, the Avengers, the good things in life, all of it—so he's trying, trying to live his second life the best that he can.

A thoughtful look passes through Tony's face, as if he knows exactly what Steve's thinking about, and he probably does. "It's okay to be happy, you know."

Steve only smiles because he doesn't quite know how to respond to that.

Tony continues. "I know how difficult this is for you, Steve, but it's been a year and a half. And I'm happy for you, I really am. But you should be happy for _you._ It's about time that you...you know...move on." There's a certain warmth, a sort of understanding in Tony's eyes that almost makes Steve believe him. _Almost _being the operative word.

Steve doesn't say anything, because he knows that if he opens his mouth to answer him, he might betray himself. But Tony is still waiting for his reply, so he tries to change the subject instead. "So… Can you help me out with this dating thing?"

Tony shrugs. "I don't think you need any help, buddy."

Steve laughs. "Seriously, Tony."

Tony rolls his eyes. "_Seriously, _Steve. Getting her number was the hard part."

"So I should just call her?"

"I've been told that's what phone numbers are for."

"_Tony."_

"_Steve." _Tony's expression is that of amusement, while Steve's is that of exasperation. "You'll be fine. Just be yourself."

"Be myself," Steve repeats slowly.

"You said she liked Steve Rogers, right? Then just _be _Steve Rogers. Don't overthink it."

It takes a moment for Steve to realize that Tony has just given him pretty good advice. "That actually makes sense."

Tony chuckles. "Tony Stark giving good dating advice. Who would have thought?"

Steve smiles at his best friend. "Me."

There's a moment where they just look at each other, smiling. No matter how much they bicker, no matter how much they try to deny it, they do love each other, not just as friends but as blood brothers, as soldiers who've gone through hell and back together.

"Well, I should go," Steve finally says. "I have a date to plan."

"You go ahead and do that."

Steve heads towards the elevator, heart heavy but in a good way. Tony may be annoying, irresponsible, narcissistic and unpredictable, but he's also the kindest, best man and best friend that Steve has had the opportunity of knowing. Not at all the heartless bastard that everyone seems to think he is.

"Hey, Steve?"

Steve turns around. "Yeah?"

"You do know you can move in anytime you want, right? You're floor's waiting—no one's been in there since construction finished."

Steve smiles sadly at Tony and nods—because_ that_ is proof Tony Stark's heart.

* * *

The last time Nikki was in New York city was thirteen years ago, a little bit after her parents' accident. Her intimacy with the City that Never Sleeps has long since faded from her mind, replaced by distant gunshots, desert storms, and hungry, displaced people with nowhere to go. She has long forgotten the opulent shops in Fifth Avenue, the tall, glittering skyscrapers of Wall Street, and the dangerous, forbidden underground Manhattan scene. Streets and shop names have been (purposely) erased from her head, as if she never lived in New York at all.

Nikki can barely remember anything about New York, but she can never forget Veselka. Desperate, broken and lost, Nikki spent most nights (and mornings) of her New York teenage years in Veselka eating blintzes and making promises to herself that she knew she couldn't keep—_I promise to sober up, I promise to clean up my act, I promise, I promise to be a better person_. Veselka was her place of refuge, far from the pressure and expectations of the Upper East Side and away from the haziness and unpredictability of the underground world. Veselka was where she knew she could be safe from anything.

And Veselka was where her best friend would sit at four in the morning waiting for her, worry evident on her face, thinking that she might be dead of an overdose in a dingy basement somewhere, or lying in a ditch bleeding to death. Her best friend would sit there for hours, her cup of coffee untouched, until Nikki showed up, sometimes hurt, but alive nonetheless. Veselka was where Nikki realized that she still had someone in this world who loved her.

Apparently, Veselka is _still _that place. Thirteen years later, Jane Foster sits in their usual table, cup of coffee left untouched, waiting for Nikki. Thirteen years with no more than a dozen or so letters from her, yet Jane still has not given up on their friendship. Thirteen years later, Jane Foster still loves her despite all the crap she's pulled.

Nikki sees Jane's face through Veselka's glass windows and a wave of emotions washes over her. She can't pinpoint exactly how she feels but there's happiness there, a little bit of relief, pride, but also a hint of sadness, disappointment, and shame. She has been the worse kind of friend imaginable, thinking only about herself and forgetting about Jane's feelings entirely. But even after all that, even after all these years, Jane still waits for her in Veselka.

Once their eyes meet, it's like they're drawn together by a magnet—Nikki rushes to Jane and they hug each other tight, holding on to each other for dear life. It's not until moments later that they realize they're crying, releasing every emotion, every feeling that they've kept locked up since _everything _that's ever happened. They've been through so much, but they're still here, barely alive, but alive nonetheless_. They're still here._

"Jane," Nikki whispers in between quiet sobs. They're still standing in the middle of Veselka, arms around each other, not yet willing to let go. "Janie, Janie, Janie."

Jane breaks the hug and takes Nikki's face into her hands, making sure that's she real, that she's really here, that she's not just a figment of her imagination. "Oh god, Nik. It's really you. You're really here."

"Yes, I'm really here." Nikki takes a deep breath. "And _you're _really here."

And they laugh. They laugh like it's only been yesterday, like they were never apart for the last thirteen years. They wipe away each other's tears, still laughing, reveling in the fact they _they're here, _they're together, and that time and distance and all the other shit in between could not keep them apart. They finally sit down, order blintzes, and hold each other's hands, still not willing to let go, still afraid that one of them might slip away.

The first thing Nikki says is the one thing she's been wanting to say for a long, long time. _"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Jane."_

Jane tells her quietly, "_I forgive you_," and that's it, that sums up their friendship, their love for each other. Because no matter what, Jane will always wait for her—forever, if it's the last thing she does—and Nikki will always show up, crawling, bruised, bloodied, half-dead maybe, but she will always, _always_ show up.

"How are you?" Jane asks her softly, tentatively, because she knows the question weighs a hundred elephants to Nikki.

Nikki opens her mouth to answer her but no words come out, and that says it all. Because really, she doesn't truly know how she feels about her uncle being gone, about being back in the city, about everything that has happened. "I—I don't know how long it's been since somebody has asked me that question." Their blintzes arrive and that gives Nikki time to recover. "I honestly don't know."

"It's been seven months, Nik."

Nikki doesn't answer, because she knows, _she knows _it's been seven excruciating months—she has counted the days, the hours even, and every second hurts more than the last. She looks down at her food, plays with it while Jane's eyes search her face for answers, for _something_. She knows that the only thing Jane wants to hear is the truth, and that's something she can't say out loud. Not yet, at least.

"I miss him too, you know." Jane's voice is almost a whisper. "I barely got to see him, but he was still a big part of my life."

"He was a big part of _ours._"

Jane nods slowly. "Where are his—"

"Everywhere." Nikki looks away, thinking of the seven refugee camps that currently hold the scattered ashes of her beloved late uncle. "Why do you think it took me seven months to get back to New York?"

"I'm surprised you're even here. After everything that's happened all these years, I never thought you'd ever come back." There is no hurt in her voice, only honesty, and Nikki thanks her for that.

Tears start welling up in Nikki's eyes again, but she holds back. He's gone, he's never coming back, and there's no use crying over memories. "After he...died," she chokes on the word, "...his lawyer accompanied Uncle Henry's ashes to Geneva and, well, he read me his will and gave me...a letter." She takes a bite of her blintze, hoping to quell her tears—she made a promise to herself never to cry about this again. "Uncle Henry told me that I had to take a two-year sabbatical, at least. Go home, figure things out before I take over the Foundation."

"It was hard, wasn't it?" Jane's eyes are knowing and compassionate. She knows Nikki all too well.

The only thing Nikki can tell her is the truth. "It was. It still is. I don't know what I'm doing anymore." She stops and thinks about her first day back, how overwhelmed she was at everything. "I've been living in deserts and mountainsides for more than a dozen years, Jane. Coming back to this completely different culture, _world_—it's bizarre. It's like traveling through time."

Jane gives her a small, amused smile. "I can imagine. Have you turned on the television yet?"

"Yes. I tried to watch MTV the other day—it was horrible. There was this show about this group of kids and—never mind. I'll sound like a hypocrite." Nikki laughs softly and does a gesture with her hand, as if to wave away the last statement. "The point is, when did Music Television stop showing music? I'm sticking to BBC now."

"Well, tell me if you need a crash course on pop culture, I'd be happy to spend a weekend with you in pajamas, popcorn and ice cream, and we'll watch movies and television shows you've missed. The good ones, of course. There's a lot of material we're going to need to cover."

Nikki insides warm up. "Just like the good old days, huh?"

"Yeah, exactly."

And just like that, everything starts falling into place. They talk about Jane, her work in New Mexico, her mysterious new boyfriend that she refuses to tell Nikki about, no matter how much she prods. Jane asks Nikki about the Foundation, the camps, what's she's seen the past years. Nikki tries to steer Jane off the topic of New York, because she's not ready, not just yet, but Jane insists anyway.

"Are you thinking about strumming the old strings? Picking up the microphone again?" Jane asks slowly, carefully.

Nikki shrugs. She doesn't want to think about this, among other things. "It's been a long time, Jane."

"You know what they say about hands remembering what the head cannot?"

Nikki puts her head in her hands. "I don't think I'm ready yet. Can we please stop talking about this?" she asks Jane as kindly as possible.

"Okay. I'm sorry. It's just that—"

Nikki lifts her hand to stop Jane from talking. "I know you mean well. And I will, maybe. But not now. There's a lot of things I have to deal with first." She takes Jane's hands in hers. "Don't worry about me. I'll figure things out, just like you did. You've always been an inspiration to me, Janie—you got out of that cage your parents put you in. I did too, but I got myself into trouble, locked myself in a different type of cage. But you. You defied all the odds, and now look at you. Beautiful, smart, amazing Jane Foster, one of the country's best astrophysicists. Living the dream."

Jane puts a stray strand of hair behind Nikki's ear and grazes her thumb across Nikki's cheek. "But you found a way out too, Nik. Granted, you took the longer, darker route, but I never thought—there were times when I didn't think we'd make it this far. That I'd lose you along the way. But you found your way, and you're still here. _You're still here._"

"I'm still here," Nikki echoes.

"You're beautiful, smart, and the bravest person I've ever had the privilege of knowing—_loving_—and that is why _you've_ been an inspiration to _me_."

They smile at each other for a few moments, relishing in each other's company, in the present moment. But they've been here for hours and Jane realizes that she needs to go. "I want to stay, but duty calls."

"We'll continue our sappy love story some other time," Nikki jokes, and they both laugh. "You're heading back to New Mexico?"

"Yes, I'm on the last flight out tonight. They want me to transfer my research here, so I need to wrap up a few things. I'll be back in a couple of weeks."

They stand up and Nikki hugs her tightly. "It's so good to finally see you after all these years, Janie. You don't know how much I've missed you."

"Right back at you." They break apart. "I'll see you soon, alright?"

"Give me a call anytime."

"I love you, Nik."

"I love you, Janie."

Jane leaves Veselka, giving Nikki one last warm, loving smile before she disappears into the New York City crowd. Nikki sighs contentedly, feeling genuinely, blatantly happy for the first time in what seems to be forever. Jane gives her hope, she always has, and now Nikki doesn't dread the new world as much anymore. Things didn't work out as she'd wished the last time, but this time, this time she has a warm, good feeling about the future. Everything will be okay.

She smiles and leaves Veselka, ready to take on the world.

* * *

"_You've reached Henry Masters' personal number. I can't come to the phone right now, so please leave a message after the beep."_

**BEEP.**

"_Hi, Nikki, it's Steve Rogers. I thought I dialed the wrong number but I remember you telling me about your uncle, so I assume that you're using his phone and haven't gotten around to changing things yet, which is perfectly understandable, no worries. So, anyway, uh, we met at the grocery store early this afternoon. I was being incompetent and you helped. We had coffee afterwards at that nice little cafe not far from the supermarket, and we exchanged numbers so I assumed it was okay to call and ask you out on that dinner we talked about? Yeah, so, yeah. Please call me back—you have my number, right?—but if you lost it, here it is, call me at 612334576. Okay, yeah. See you? Bye."_

"_Steve Roger's phone! Either he's really not here or he's being the idiot that he is and can't figure out how to work his phone, so just leave a message and he'll get back to you in the next century or two. Beep. Beep. Beepbeepbeep."_

**BEEP.**

"_Okay, clearly you didn't make that message, but it made me laugh anyway. So, are you free on Thursday?"_


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

(A/N: Oh god, this is way, _way _overdue. I'm so sorry for the late update—I'm on the third week of senior year and things in uni have already started to pick up. To top it all, I'm homeless and have been apartment hunting since my return from my semester abroad, and it's only today that I finally landed an apartment that I like. I don't have any other excuse aside from the fact that I can't manage my time for shit. And you're all going to hate me because this chapter is about half as long as the other. I was going to include more but I decided to write a separate chapter for what happens after this one. You guys will understand why soon.

Again, reviews help me, so please take a minute to drop one! I appreciate every favorite and story alert, but reviews help me improve and incorporate what you guys would like to see.

Happy reading and please don't kill me!)

* * *

On Thursday night, he takes her to Southpaw somewhere in Brooklyn, an unpretentious and mellow place where the food is great and the music is absolutely fantastic. If there are two things that Steve loves about the twenty-first century, it's those two—the many different cuisines he can eat and the different varieties of music that he can listen to in one city blow his mind. Which is why he finds himself constantly wandering the streets of Brooklyn, looking for new restaurants to try and music venues to hang out in. Southpaw was an accidental discovery, and its terrific atmosphere has made it one of Steve's favorite places to be in.

He meets her near the cafe-slash-deli where they had coffee a few days ago, and she looks great in her aqua-green flowy dress and strappy (he has no other word to describe them with) black sandals. She smiles shyly when she sees him approaching, and when they meet she gives him a kiss on the cheek, which shouldn't surprise him but it does anyway—most of the time his head is still in the forties. "Hello," she greets him, and he notes the excitement in her voice. He's excited too, and he's pretty sure his not-so-subtle blush is showing it rather gracelessly.

"Hi," he greets back. "You look beautiful."

Now it's her turn to blush. "Thank you, I—I had to go to the store to buy some new clothes. I was looking through my closet when I realized that most of my wardrobe consisted of Foundation shirts and dirty jeans. And I got some make-up as well, had the girl at the counter teach me how to put it on, because I can't go to a date looking like trash, and—gosh, I'm babbling, aren't I? I'll stop talking now. God, I'm really sorry, I'm kind of nervous…" Her eyes are looking for something else to look at other than Steve.

He chuckles. "You really didn't need to do all that." He's flattered—no one has ever gone through the trouble of dressing up for a date with him before. And that's probably because he's never actually been on one before, because Peggy—

Best not think about Peggy and what-could-have-beens when Nikki's smiling at him, all gorgeous and nervous, _actually nervous _about being on a date with him, because that in itself is a miracle on its own.

"It's okay," she tells him shyly. "I wanted to. It's—it's been a while."

Steve doesn't know what to say to that, so he takes her hand into his and leads her to Southpaw, which isn't too far from where they are. They walk quietly in the streets of Brooklyn, Steve's mind still wrapping around the fact that he's holding her hand and she's not pulling away. Maybe this is going to fast, but for the first time since waking up, something feels right, and this really does. Her hand is warm, soft, and smooth and he has no plans to release it.

It doesn't take long for them to arrive in Southpaw, and when they do Steve notices a change in Nikki's facial expression. For a moment there's a twinkle in her eyes, a flash of pure joy, but then it disappears, her expression turns grim, and there's a flicker of what Steve thinks is reluctance. His heart falls—he thinks he might have made a mistake, that he might have read Nikki differently. "What's wrong?" he asks cautiously.

She shakes her head and laughs anxiously. "Nothing, it's nothing."

"Are you sure? We can go somewhere else if you'd like," he offers, praying that she's not about to change her mind about the date. He'll go just about anywhere right now if it means being with her for another couple of hours.

"No, no. There's no need," she reassures him. "Let's go inside?"

He leads her in, and the bouncer greets him like an old friend—Steve's been here a couple of times (actually, more than a couple of times) and the staff knows him by name and not by Captain America. Southpaw is one of the only places in New York where he is no one else but Steve Rogers, where he can get lost in the small crowd of passionate people wanting nothing more than to be in the presence of great music, where he can just be one of _them_. In Southpaw, there are no superheroes, no alter egos, just people and their fiery love for something much greater than they are.

The staff seats them in a much quieter environment downstairs, below the main hall. Steve observes Nikki carefully as she takes a look at the very short menu. He had thought that this was the perfect place to bring her on their first date—he had rather thought her to be a free spirit, a lover of life and of all things beautiful—but her reaction upon seeing the venue had cracked his confidence and his initial judgment of her somewhat. She wears a slightly uncertain expression as she puts down the menu and takes a good look at the place, but beyond that there's nothing more that he can read on her face. She knows how to hide her emotions well, and that is making Steve even more nervous than when they first reached the place.

"Are you...are you sure you want to stay here?" he asks again. "We can go somewhere else. It's not a problem, really."

He can see her trying desperately to wipe the hesitation off her face. "No, Steve, really. This place is actually perfect. It's just—really, I love it." She hesitates again. "Reminds me of a lot of things."

Her expression tells him that he should tread lightly on this topic of conversation. "Can I ask what?"

She smiles at him sadly, and for a moment he thinks she's going to evade his question, but she surprises him with an answer. "Music is—_was_—a big part of my life. Most of the best nights—_sober _nights—of my life were spent in places like this."

Some things spike his interest be he knows he should be careful. One thing at a time. "And the hesitation before entering was…?"

She shrugs nonchalantly, trying to make the conversation seem lighter than it really is. "Memories, I guess. It's been a long time since… Well, it's been a long time."

Before Steve can follow up on that, the waitress arrives to take their order, and he notices the relief on Nikki's face as she is let off the hook for the meantime.

When the waitress leaves, it's Nikki who talks first, as if calling dibs on the conversation, and she changes the subject entirely. "So," Nikki continues teasingly, steering as far away from the topic of her past as possible. "I don't know that much about _you, _Steve. We've been talking about me for the past two dates. Maybe it's time you told me more about yourself? I mean, you obviously have good taste in restaurants and music. But, you know, what do you do, where did you grow up, are you secretly a serial killer, stuff like that."

Although her tone is light and humorous, Steve's heart skips a beat. What does he say to that? Should he lie? Should he tell her the truth this early on? Would it matter? Would it change everything or nothing at all? He's smiling at her, trying to hide the mental crisis that he's having, and she's waiting for his answer. This is not good, not good at all, because one of the things that Steve hates most is lying to people who don't need to be lied to. "S-security business," he sputters out. It's not exactly a lie, but it's not the whole truth either, and he feels awful.

"I thought so," she comments, and he hopes she didn't catch that sigh of relief. "You have the build of a soldier. Were you in the army?"

He nods but doesn't say anything. Too many memories.

Nikki knows there's a time for talking war, so she doesn't press on. Instead, she says, "It must feel good to be back, then."

He shrugs, because again, what does he say to that? Does he tell her that he feels out of place in this new world, that he is, as Loki said, a man out of time? Or does he tell her that he hates it, absolutely hates it, and that he wishes they had never found him? Does he tell her that he just wants to be gone? There are too many thoughts crowding in his head, too many things—sad, depressing, _honest_ things—he wants to say, but he can't allow himself to. To say them out loud would make them real, because if he is really honest with himself, there's a tiny part of him that thinks this is all just a very bad dream.

So he tells her something that isn't really a lie, but isn't really the truth. Again. "Strange, really. I feel like I don't belong. I don't understand half of what people are talking about these days." The words feel foreign to his lips and he feels absolutely horrible for doing this to Nikki, but he finds himself able to continue. "It seems as though everyone's fluent in a language that, no matter how hard I try, I just can't seem to grasp it."

There's a small, sad smile playing on Nikki's lips, and Steve can see her completely _understanding everything. _The thought that he might not be alone in this hits him hard, and that realization makes him feel a tightness in his chest. "I know how that feels," she tells him softly, almost melancholic. "I really do." And he believes her because he can see it on her face plain as day.

The waitress arrives with their orders, and they agree to change their conversation to something much, much lighter than living in a world they don't seem to belong in. Steve asks her about music and the city, and unexpectedly she answers with enthusiasm—her eyes tell him how much she's missed this amazing, mind-blowing side of New York, the one that can take you to places far beyond the reaches of this earth with just the strum of a guitar. She doesn't know any of the new talents when he asks her about her favorite bands—her answers revolve mainly around the classics: U2, Pink Floyd, The Beatles, Led Zeppelin. Steve knows those bands, loves them even, because the first thing that he did when he woke up—aside from consuming book after book about the history of the past 70 years—was to listen to what 70 years of music had to offer him.

He tells her about the phenomenal independent music scene that New York harbors after sundown and drops the names of his favorite indie bands—the XX, the Black Keys, the Temper Trap, Phoenix, among others—and she makes him promise to take her to a concert someday, should any of the bands happen to be in town. It's a promise that Steve is very happy to make and for the first time, the notion of _later, _of the future, makes him smile a little.

Their food is long gone and they're on their third round of drinks when they switch to movies and TV shows. They laugh at each other because they know absolutely nothing about what's on TV and they honestly don't care, but Nikki is shocked at Steve's insufficient (almost non-existent) knowledge on movies in the AFI 100 Years, 100 Movies list, let alone Academy Award winners of the past thirty years. Steve shrugs it off, makes more excuses (which still makes him uncomfortable), but Nikki's tipsy so she doesn't notice him fumbling his words.

Nikki's slight drunkenness is confirmed when she says: "We should have a movie marathon at my place." He doesn't mind, really, doesn't mind at all, but isn't there a protocol for this? Some sort of step by step guide to determining when you're supposed to see her apartment? But Nikki doesn't care apparently, because she continues, "It'll be fun! An entire weekend of pajamas, popcorn, and the best movies that the human race has to offer—what could be better?"

It's clear to Steve that Nikki really doesn't care (or doesn't know) for the (probably fictional) rules of dating and, well, they seem to be two people who fall under the 'extenuating circumstances' category. Two people who, although have not gone through exactly the same thing, feel the same way—Steve thinks there _must _be a reason why they met, why they're here right now. So it doesn't take much for him to tell her, "That sounds wonderful."

When they leave Southpaw, they walk under the stars Steve—although he can't see them—knows are glittering under the hazy, murky sky. He takes her hand as they stroll through Brooklyn, all the while talking about New York, the city that they both love but somehow don't know anymore. There's something inherently fast about all this, Steve thinks, but it's comforting and it feels _just right_. He doesn't care, because when has his life been _just right _ever since waking up? And there's another thing, a positive feeling of _something _spreading inside of him_, _but he can't quite put his finger on it.

Nikki stops abruptly and looks up at the sky. "What's wrong?" Steve asks her.

She doesn't look at him when she poses a question to Steve (and to the sky), "Does it ever scare you? Being so lost in all of this?" When he doesn't answer right away, she continues in an almost whisper, "Because it scares me." There's a heavy pause. "I've been to war-torn areas and seen too much blood to last me a lifetime, but this city still scares the living hell out of me." She's facing him now but her eyes are closed and she's barely moving, barely breathing. Steve can see her internally struggling for some semblance of control, and he knows, _he knows,_ because he goes through that _every single day. _

At that moment, Steve is certain that they're going need to hold on to each other for dear life. He tightens his grip on her hand when she opens her beautiful blue eyes to look into his. "We'll figure it out together," he whispers to her, because he knows what that feeling is now—_it's hope_.


End file.
